Of Canines and Stupid Hoods
by Fire of my Loins
Summary: In which Tim Shepard unwillingly "adopts" a stupid dog that is dubbed Winston (after the cigarettes, of course) that unintentionally becomes his ward and causes an impromptu conversation about that idiot Dallas Winston with that airhead Curtis kid. Or alternatively, Tim finally coming to terms with Dallas' death, who he doesn't miss. At all. Or he likes to think. Post-novel.
1. Stupid Canines

**In which Tim Shepard unwillingly "adopts" a stupid dog that is dubbed Winston (after the cigarettes, of course) that unintentionally becomes his ward and causes an impromptu conversation about that idiot Dallas Winston with the airhead Curtis kid. Or alternatively, Tim finally coming to terms with Dallas' death. Post-novel.**

**Disclaimer: The Outsiders is the literary genius of S.E. Hinton, and nowhere close to ever becoming mine. If it was mine, I'd have a crack prequel where Tim and Dally take an unpremeditated road trip and cause a lot of trauma to people. Oops. **

The whole thing starts on a Tuesday night, approximately a month and a half after the rumble incident. It's a school night, so it's relatively quieter than it usually is with what all the school kiddies probably tucked away in their beds at this point. Still, the night life is teeming with suspicious looking characters ranging from druggies to the hardbodies wandering around looking for a good time, and Tim is satisfied with the familiar norm of his realm, now currently the parking lot outside of a diner. Relaxing now, he leans his head back in his Mercury Montclair (his pride and joy, the stolen fruitation of a heist from two years ago), eyes closed in a peaceful manner as he hears the other boys of his outfit bickering as usual in the background. All seems well, but there's still that strange, uncomfortable ache he feels in himself, and it frustrates him. Ignoring the feeling as always, he shakes his head and decides he'll try to take a nap or something, when he hears Jimmy and Kenny screech like banshees, and his head snaps up and hits the roof of his car. _Fucking hell._ Groaning as he rubs the new sore spot on his head, he grumbles as he kicks the car door open. This better be good.

"The fuck is going on here?" he snarls, and immediately all the boys stand straight up, as if their backs had always been governed by a stiff metal pole in them, and Tim smirks at their behavior. "Well?"

His question is answered when Kenny comes waving a bloodied hand at him, and Tim's eyes narrow, scanning the area immediately for the threat.

"What happened to you?" he asks, but Kenny's too busy hissing and cradling his hand with the good one. Jimmy answers for him.

"Tim, man, there's this shit crazy dog out there—"

Tim barks out a laugh. That was it?

"You guys are flipping your shit over a stupid _mutt_?" he asks over the roar of his laughter, and some of the other guys join in on the laughter.

"A stupid mutt who almost took my fucking hand off!" Kenny cries in protest, holding up his mangled hand to Tim's face, and Tim coolly waves the grotesque hand away with his own.

"What were you punks up to anyway?"

"Tryna pick up broads," Jimmy says with a toothy grin. "Dog was wandering around the back of the diner for a while, and it was scaring the girls, so Kenny tried to kick it away and it tried to eat his hand clean off."

Kenny moans in confirmation of the story, and Robbie comes up to lead him away to his car with a, "Aw, come on, you big sissy, it's just a dog bite."

But it's quite clear Kenny's hand requires medical attention, and Tim's amused.

"Where's the thing now?"

"It's still—it's right _there_!" Jimmy shouts in alarm, and immediately all the boys pull back at the sight of a growling, enormous Rottweiler, which was indeed, only a few feet clear of them.

"Jesus, that's a _dog_?" one of them exclaims, as Kenny goes pale and instantly flees upon seeing the beast.

Tim merely scoffs, and like him, some of the other guys are unintimated by the hulking thing. Chris, resident badass of the group, actually laughs and walks closer to it.

"You pussies are seriously scared of this little _puppy_?" he asks, smirking, and Tim resists the urge to roll his eyes at Chris' show of bravado. The guy was always trying to one –up him, and quite frankly, it was irritating as fuck. Chris continues, and as a joke, tries to pat the dog on the head. The dog attacks him. Tim looks on, laughing again as the panicked Chris and several of the other guys try to beat it down.

"Good job, Evans," he mock-congratulates Chris, fixing him with a smug smile, and Chris glowers at him.

"You think you're so great Shepard, why don't you try getting near that stupid dog?" Chris spits out, clearly humiliated, and Tim finally notices the blood-stained part of the other greaser's pant leg, which just incenses his delight with the whole situation.

"Got you good, didn't he?" he asks instead with a wolfish grin, and Chris just flips him off this time.

Tim easily walks up to the dog, despite the worried looks and cries of his loyal cronies, and the dog still growls at him. He crouches to make eye contact with it.

"Angry little thing, aren't you?"

The dog barks at him threateningly, and he chuckles, making a move to touch it, and it snaps at his hand. Thankfully, Tim being the smart one with the quick reflexes moves his hand back just in time.

"Jesus, you don't waste any time, don't you," he mutters more to himself, as he continues his staring contest with the beast, and it stars right back at him.

And that's when he realizes. _The thing is fucking scared of him_. Of everyone there. He could see it in its panicked eyes. In its snappy behavior. The way it's actually shaking. Suddenly, Tim feels a twinge of pity for this animal, and he scowls at himself for having such sissy feelings, but he can't help it. The Rottweiler seemed…desperate. Violent, young, and desperate. _Just like_—Tim shakes his head, not allowing himself to finish the thought. Instead he speaks to the dog in a low voice.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he mutters to it, in the same voice he reserves for Curly or Angel when they're upset about something, and the dog almost seems like it's listening to him when it stops its growling for the first time. "So calm your mutt self down and don't bite me when I try to pet you. Or I'll really give you a reason to be scared."

And with that, he extends a hand to pat its head, and to everyone's surprise, even Tim's, the thing actually leans to the hood's touch and whines, tongue lolling now, and it rubs its head against Tim's legs when he takes his hand back.

"Attention whore," he calls it out in bemusement, but nonetheless he brings his hand back to give it a good rub on the ears, and the dog's tail thuds happily on the cemented ground.

"Well, woulda look at that!" Robbie says, a broad grin on his face, and even Kenny has peeked over from his hiding spot to pop his eyes out at the sight. "You did it, Tim!"

"Aw, is Tim enjoying his time with his doggie? Growing soft, Shepard," Chris teases, finally recovering from his shock at what just happened and Tim instantly retracts his hand again and stands up, glaring at Chris.

"It's not my fucking dog, and at least it didn't try to bite my leg off," he throws at him, defenses up at being called soft. "And I am _not_ soft. You ever call me that again, and I'll rip you a new one."

Chris backs off at his words, acknowledging Tim as his superior, but he still leers at the curly-haired boy.

"Touchy. No wonder it likes you, you're both violent as fuck."

"Damn straight," Tim says, and he stretches, before hiding a yawn with his arm. "Well, now that's over with, let's beat feet, yeah? It's dead here."

There's a chorus of murmurs in agreement, and everyone starts on their separate ways home. Tim's one of the last to leave, being lazy and taking his sweet time. And why shouldn't he? The only things at home were the angsty teenagers he called siblings. Curly didn't hang around with the rest of the gang as much during the school year, as he liked to pester that Curtis kid around at school, and Angela was usually away mooshing faces with random guys at Buck's. He let out a sigh. They made up a dysfunctional family, but he'd be damned if he said he didn't care about them. Freaking kids. Tim's about to open the door to his car, when he hears a whine, and something brushes up against his legs. He looks down. It's the Rottweiler mutt, and the thing's staring up at him expectantly.

"What?" he asks, giving it a deadpan look. "What're you doing, still bumming it around here?"

It's still standing there, and Tim sighs, giving it a nudge with his boot as he gets into his car.

"Go on, get! Shoo!"

It merely barks, and sits there, tail wagging away, and Tim just shuts the car door on it, starting up the engine. As he pulls the Montclair away, the dog starts barking like crazy, on its feet now as Tim starts to drive away, and it even has the audacity to chase his car. Tim rolls down the window and pokes his head out to glare at it.

"Seriously? _Get_!" he yells at it, and the dog barks right back at him as it continues to tail his car.

It's not about to quit, Tim notices, as he warily checks his rearview mirror. He could see its face in the mirror, as it lets out a pitiful howl. _Still violent, young, and desperate_. Oh, fuck it all. The tires screech as he sharply turns his baby around, and the dog happily barks up a storm as he abruptly stops the car right in front of it and gets out of his seat. Tim is glowering at it, clearly very angry as he opens up the door to the shotgun seat and points.

"Well? Get the fuck in the car!" he yells at it, and it complies, jumping into the seat easily, and Tim slams the door shut and reclaims his own seat. The dog's wagging its tail damn off as he starts the car up again, and he gives it a tired look. "I hope you're happy, mutt. You better not get your Goddamn fur all over my seats."

It barks, and since no one's there with them, Tim manages a small smile.

"Annoying little bugger," he says fondly as he starts the journey home. He looks at the mutt again. "Say, you're going to need a name or something, right? I can't go on calling you 'dog' or 'mutt' all the time." After much contemplation, he decides on a name.

"Your name's going to be Winston, ai'ght?" he tells it. "No pussy names for you. Just Winston. Like the cigarettes."

_And not after that idiotic guy that you kinda sorta remind me of_. Well, ok, maybe him too. For his honor or some shit. Winston just barks at him again, and Tim snorts.

"You don't have any clue on what I'm saying, do you?" he says, before shaking his head, but he's laughing.

Kids were going to have a heart attack when he gets home.

**A/N: You're all probably thinking, "Why the hell is she starting a new fic when she already has one up, OH MY GOD." Yeah, I've actually been asking myself the same thing. In my defense, this is probably only going to be like 3-5 chapters so it's cool~ I'm working on Misfits, I promise, but in light of myself having a Tim Shepard obsession phase, I think you guys can cut me some slack. ANYWAYS. Like it says on the tin, basically this is going to be about Tim and his stupidly cute Rottweiler Winston, and how Tim's still dealing with Dally dying and stuff, 'cause jeebus, the guy was his best friend. And, yeah, Pony's probably going to pop up because why the hell not. 'Til next time, ciao~**


	2. Stupid Hoods

**Disclaimer: The Outsiders is the literary genius of S.E. Hinton, and nowhere close to ever becoming mine. If it was mine, I'd probably have more Shepard family angst, boo-hoo. **

"_Tim, make that stupid thing shut the __**fuck**__ up!"_

Tim groans as he awakens to the loud, obnoxious yells of that brat Angela, but nonetheless props himself upright in bed to scowl at Winston, who was indeed currently barking up a storm. As soon as he realizes that Tim's actually up, Winston stops his incessant noise immediately and his tail wags as he walks right up to sit obediently at Tim's feet. Tim actually manages a something akin to a smile as he stretches a hand out to rest it on the dog's head.

"Good job, mutt," he tells Winston with a grin, and Angela's screeches a "I_ heard_ that, Tim!" in the background, to which both Tim and Winston let out some muffled groan. Jesus. None of them can escape Angela.

Tim remembers the looks on the kids' faces when he first brought Winston home. Both of them had been rather surprised. Curly's jaw had dropped to the floor with his eyes popping out of his sockets ("Close your mouth, you look like an idiot," Tim had told him) and Angela, ever a hater of any creature, had snarled something about how the dog was going to stink up the whole house and get fur on all her clothes ("You barely wear any clothes," Curly had quipped, and Tim had laughed while Angela turned red with fury). Curly had taken a liking to the dog, but apparently Winston still hated everyone and everything except for Tim, and had nearly bitten Curly's fingers off, much to Tim's amusement. And with that, Winston had started off his stay at the Shepard residence as an indefinite guest. Tim scratches behind Winston's right ear, and Winston thumps his tail against the ground happily. _Whump, whump._

"I'm going back to sleep," he grumbles to himself, stumbling back into bed.

Winston's still wagging that tail. _Whump, whump._

"Come on, let's get out of here," Tim tells the dog one morning as he pushes the door open to the outside world. "I'm sure you want to rest your eardrums from Angela's screaming just as much as I do."

Winston only lets out a single sharp bark, and together they book it out of there. Winston trails closely behind Tim as they walk, a thing Tim is growing accustomed to. Their walks are a frequent routine now. They enter a diner, and people stare at the hulking Winston as Tim slips unnoticed to the counter and dabbles around with the food, swiping people's breakfasts into his inner jacket pockets. Finally, someone taps him on the shoulder, and he turns around wearing an apathetic look on his face. It's a waitress, but not a very good-looking one, so he's disinterested as he gives her a blank stare.

"What?" he asks none too gently, and she jumps a little.

"S-Sir, you can't bring your dog in here," she stutters, and he resists an eye roll at her fidgetiness.

"Not a problem," he waves her off nonchantly, and he clicks his tongue at Winston as they get up to leave.

Tim smirks as the door jangles shut behind him, and he tosses Winston a breakfast sandwich.

"Suckers," he says to himself as he takes a bite out of his own sandwich. He nudges the dog with his foot. "Breakfast of champions, Winston. Breakfast of champions."

* * *

Tim won't admit it ever, but he's fond of Winston. The mutt's loyal, and dead useful to have around in fights. He also finds himself talking to him more often than not, something the brat Curly has picked up on.

"Winston's a dog," Curly says one day, and Tim scowls at him over the paper. The fact that Tim Shepard reads is a shocker to anyone, but hey, he needs to keep up with the times, dig?

"Yes he is, good job, Curls," he tells him dryly before returning to the paper, and he hears Curly sigh. "What now?"

"Don't call me Curls," Curly says adamantly first before continuing, "Tim, he's an ornery bitch. His name is Winston. Don't you think—"

Tim catches on right away and changes the subject with, "I can call you whatever the hell I want, _Curls_, and don't you have anything else better to do in your pathetic life than piss me off?"

Curly replies with, "Tim, you're my brother. You're going to have to deal with this sooner or later."

And then he wisely runs out of there quick. Tim just stares after him, still for a couple moments before getting off the couch and beckoning Winston over. They go on a walk and don't come back 'til real late in the night, and Tim smells terribly of booze and cigarette smoke.

Tim and Winston are on one of their daily walks again. It's been two months since the big rumble, and three weeks since Winston came to live with the Shepards. Incidents between greasers and Socs have dropped—a little surprising to Tim since he guessed the Richy Rich's might be a little more vengeful after their defeat. He would have been. Hell, he still is. He stretches out lazily. Today has been rather dead, but he doesn't feel much like trying to hunt action, so he just heads to Buck's for a beer or two. He's been avoiding that place ever since the rumble, but he feels pretty stupid as he hesitates in front of the door. Who was he kidding? He was fucking Tim Shepard, and Shepards didn't hesitate, they leaped right into action. So he pushes the door right open and marches right into the scene. Buck's hasn't changed in the slightest since his last visit—why should it?—and it's as rowdy and crazy as it's always been, which makes Tim feel more at ease. He doesn't like change much. He pulls up a chair for himself, and Winston curls up at his feet as he asks for a beer, to which the bartender, who recognizes him with a smile, gives him his usual kind. Some things never changed.

"Tim? Didn't think I'd see your mug again after your disappearing act," a voice remarks from behind him, and Tim turns slowly to face a smirking Buck Merril.

"What disappearing act? Maybe I was just trying to get away from _your _ugly ass mug," Tim scoffs, and Buck laughs, sitting down on the stool next to him.

"Nice to see you're still a cheerful ray of sunshine," Buck says, grabbing Tim's bottle and taking a swig before handing it back to him, and Tim doesn't mind because it's Buck.

"Nice to see you're still an asshole running an old dump," Tim shoots back easily, and they both grin at each other.

"I haven't seen you in a while Tim, how's tricks?" Buck asks, and Tim shrugs in response. Buck sees Winston, and his eyebrows shoot up. "When'd you get a dog?"

"He's not mine," Tim says, eyeing said dog and hiding a smirk as Buck tries to pet him and the thing growls menacingly at him. "He just kind of follows me and I'm letting him stay over."

"I see he's just as friendly as you are," Buck says, staring at Winston a bit more cautiously now. "Got a name?"

"Winston," Tim answers, and Buck's eyebrows travel higher up his forehead, and he opens his mouth to speak, but Tim cuts in with a, "After the cigarettes."

"Sure," Buck says steadily, though they both know and are aware of the sudden tension in the atmosphere. Buck gives Tim a knowing look, but doesn't say anything much to Tim's relief. Of course, this is before what Buck says next. "Speaking of Winstons…how're you holding up?"

"Just fine," Tim says stiffly, his grip around the neck of his bottle tight with his veins sticking out, and he feels Winston press against his leg, noticing his discomfort.

"Okay," Buck says, looking like he regrets his words, and he turns away for a moment before saying, "Say, I know you don't like picking up trash, but Dal—the guy's room is the way it is with all his things and shit… I was wondering if you wanted to help me clear it out?"

Tim's initial instinct is telling him "_No_" but he remembers Curly's words from last week, and he stared down at a curious looking Rottweiler. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah, okay," he reluctantly consents, and Buck's face splits in a smile and the older man claps him on the back. "If you try to kiss me, so help me."

"Don't flatter yourself kid," Buck snorts, but he's all smiles and Tim trudges to follow him up the flight of stairs to a familiar room, and away from all the chaos downstairs.

Buck pushes the door open, and Tim dreads going inside, hesitating outside the door for a couple of seconds. _Shepards don't hesitate._ He walks into the room.

It's as every bit of messy as it was before, Tim notices with disdain. Contrary to popular belief, Tim likes to think of himself as slightly more hygienic than his fellow greasers. Something about knowing where everything is puts him at ease. Winston seems displeased with the room as well, letting out quiet growls under his breath.

"I'll leave you to it then, "Buck says, and Tim looks at him in surprise. Buck shrugs. "Someone's gotta keep an eye on everyone down there. There's boxes I already put on the ground, so do whatever you want."

He leaves, leaving Tim and the dog alone in the desolate room. Tim just stands there, taking everything in. Clothes carelessly strewn about. Empty beer bottles. Just a heap of junk. Tim rolls his eyes and scoffs, kicking at a shirt two inches away from him. Buck wanted him to sort this shit out? Trash, all of it. He haphazardly sifts through the mess with a hand, and finds nothing particularly useful. He stiffens as he finds something. _Photographs_. They're pictures of the idiot with the whole lot. The Cade kid. (_Lordy, he was too young to die…_) The Curtis brothers with Randle and Mathews. Even ones of him and Buck and some other guys.

"What would you do with stupid pictures anyway, you stupid hood?" he asks aloud, and he kicks over an innocent chair in frustration, which makes Winston bark in alarm.

The Goddamn idiot.

* * *

It's been four days since Tim visited that room at Buck's. He hadn't done anything with any of the crap in it, not really; took a few things, but that was it. He was a lot quieter afterwards. ("Cat got your tongue, boss?" Chris had asked, and Tim broke his nose without warning.) Not to mention crabby because he was unable to sleep for some reason. So he had gotten up at seven in the morning to blow some steam.

"I feel like shit," he says to Winston, who's just obediently beside him. "I like complete and utter shit."

Winston whines, and Tim shrugs, pulling his smoke out of his mouth for a second to blow out a stream of smoke, and then he puts the cigarette between his lips again. Suddenly, Winston starts barking like crazy and veers off, and Tim groans.

"Oh, come on, I'm tired and it's going to be your fault if you maul someone to death, and—oh."

Tim blinks at the sight before him. Winston isn't mauling anyone. In fact, he's going batshit crazy over someone—whining and slobbering and the works. Over Ponyboy Curtis. Tim watches in bemusement as the Curtis kid crouches and lets Winston sniff his hand, smiles, and scratches Winston behind the ears like Tim does. Finally, Tim clears his throat, and smirks as the kid jumps.

"It's a miracle he likes you, usually he tries to kill people," he says, and he wants to laugh because Curtis kid's eyes are wide with awe and fear and he's just so damn _readable_. "Hey, kid. Fancy seeing you here."

"Hi, Tim," Curtis says, getting up with Winston circling around his legs. "Is he your dog? I didn't know you got one."

"He's not mine, he just follows me around," Tim shrugs. It's true. Winston comes and goes as he likes, he's not Tim's.

"Well, he's nice," Curtis says, patting Winston on the head, and Tim swears the dog's tail's going to fall off at the rate it's going.

"He's not nice, he's a killing machine with street cred," Tim scowls, but Winston only lets out a pitiful whine and rubs his head against Curtis' legs, which makes the younger boy laugh.

"Yeah, sure," the boy says, grinning as he bends down again to give the traitorous mutt a good rub on the head, and Tim rolls his eyes. _Just when he thought he could depend on the thing._ "What's his name?"

"Winston," Tim says, and he resists another eye roll at when Curtis raises an eyebrow a la Two-Bit Mathews. "After the cigarettes."

"Ah," he says, seeming to understand, but he keeps his mouth shut. It's a quality of the baby Curtis that Tim actually really likes about him. He doesn't bother people (often), and is relatively quiet.

A somewhat awkward silence falls upon them, and Tim realizes for the first time they've never really _talke_d before. It was usually occasional, curt greetings because of Curly or Curtis' older brothers or…Dallas. Tim takes the silence to observe Curtis like he does with everyone else. Kid is blessed with the Curtis genes—he's good-looking with the same pretty boy face as his older brother's, except with softer features. He wonders if this is why Angela is so infatuated with the kid. He's also taller than he was when Tim last saw him, but he perpetually wears the expression of being in thought. Blinking, he realizes that the kid is doing the same thing he is—analyzing him, and they both kind of uncomfortably stare at each other. Tim coughs.

"How have you've been?" he asks, and the words sound so forced, he cringes.

"Alright I guess," Curtis shrugs with the same forcedness, and they both look at each other for a moment before chuckling. "I think we can both agree that this is pretty awkward."

"Very," Tim nods, and he sits on the curb, feeling weary all of a sudden. "Sit, kid. Let's talk awhile. Smoke?"

"Trying to cut back," Curtis says, obeying without question and shaking his head. "Thanks anyway."

"You?" Tim asks, surprise lacing the undertones of his voice. Curtis was a bit infamous for being a weed fiend.

"Yeah, me," the auburn haired boy laughs. "Something with strict older brothers and track."

Tim just nods, blowing out smoke again, and the white colored wisps swirl into a cloud above their heads.

"You okay after the rumble? I think I might of stepped on your hand," he says, and Curtis nods.

"You did, actually. Not a big deal. And yeah, I guess I'm fine. You?"

"I get into fights all the time, kid," Tim tells him honestly. "What was one more? You shouldn't get into them as often as I do. Fighting toughens you up, but it hardens you."

Curtis' face has blanched into an impossible white, and Tim frowns.

"Kid?"

"Sorry," the kid says, chewing on his bottom lip. "You just sounded a lot like him and—"

"Who?" he asks, even though the answer is as clear as day, and he feels a chill creep up his spine even though it's pretty warm and nice for seven in the morning. He doesn't want the kid to say it, even though it's clearly the pink elephant in the room.

"Dally."

**A/N: Ponyboy manages to creep his way into everything, it seems. Freaking kid. I'm sensing one more chapter for this. Misfits will most likely be updated next week—I'm busy with AP exams, and I'm posting this because I finished this yesterday. Ciao 'til later, dudes.**

**Responses:**

**AlongTheBinding: Thank you so much! I'll try to get to Misfits ay-sap!**

**dreamer 3097: Thank you very much!**

**Xiao Yingai: Gracias, friend! I'll try!**

**PimpedOutGreenEars: Thank you very much! Yes, the Tim/Dally dynamic is really interesting, no? Hope I didn't disappoint!**

**submarines: Thanks for the kind words! Wow, really? It's strange to know you found my fic in two different places! Hope you liked this chapter!**


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